


What Was Missing

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, hanzo's dragons are nosy little shits, idk my dude it just happened, it started off as me wondering if hanzo's dragons could talk to him and 6k later here we are, maybe a touch of angst? its not bad tho, they are way too involved in hanzo's personal life tbh, this is mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo listened to his dragons—for the most part. They were his fiercest protectors, his best allies. It was less that he was their master and more that they let him tell them when to come out and play. <br/>They were better judges of character than he was. When he was younger, any new member of his father’s clan had to be subjected to the dragons’ judgement before they were allowed to join. Many a double agent had been tore apart by the twin dragons, who were instinctively able to tell allies from enemies. <br/>They comforted him, his dragons. They knew him better than anyone else. More often than not, they knew better than him.<br/>But not in this instance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Was Missing

**Author's Note:**

> ok i'm gonna be honest, this was an experiment to see if i could get hanzo and mccree's voices down p well. also the last 2k i wrote while on several different cold medications, so there's that. have fun?

Hanzo listened to his dragons—for the most part. They were his fiercest protectors, his best allies. It was less that he was their master and more that they let him tell them when to come out and play. 

They were better judges of character than he was. When he was younger, any new member of his father’s clan had to be subjected to the dragons’ judgement before they were allowed to join. Many a double agent had been tore apart by the twin dragons, who were instinctively able to tell allies from enemies. 

The dragons didn’t talk to him that often—at least not with words. If they spoke, it was more in feelings and the way they moved under his skin. He could tell when they were content, when they were anxious, when they boiled with anger, and when they cried with grief. It always felt strange when Hanzo’s own emotions were in conflict with the dragons’. The years following his brother’s demise were especially rough. The dragons never abandoned him, though he could tell they wanted to. They stayed his protectors, but grudgingly so. Only after he began to right his wrongs did they fully return.

They comforted him, his dragons. They knew him better than anyone else. More often than not, they knew _better_ than him.

But not in this instance.

“No,” Hanzo growled, grabbing his own wrist and forcing it down to his side. The dragons bucked under his skin, trying to raise the hand again. “Stop it.”

He felt the brush of their anger. It wasn’t the harsh, boiling burn of true anger. It was more annoyance, truth be told. Annoyance that he was ignoring their advice.

“I am not going to bed the cowboy,” Hanzo muttered. “I do not care that you believe him to be a good match for me. I do not care about the powerful ally he could make. I certainly do not care that you think _I_ think he is attractive. I am _not_ going to sleep with him.”

They settled down a little (grumpily), but maybe it was only because Agent McCree was out of eyeshot. Hanzo rolled his eyes and rubbed his arm. The dragons quelled under his touch, fading back into the bright tattoos again.

“Good,” Hanzo said aloud, to no one. 

—

He had been with Overwatch for two years. His relationship with his brother was better than before, if still difficult. They could spend time together in the company of others, but not much with just each other. Genji might have forgiven him long ago, but Hanzo would never fully forgive himself. It made for stilted, awkward conversation.

During his time in Overwatch, he had become acquainted with many of its members. Some of them he would truly consider his friends—Agent McCree first and foremost among them. They worked well together on missions, and thus spent a great deal of time in each other’s presence. They had gotten to know each other quite well, through necessity if nothing else. McCree was fond of talking about anything and everything, and had a way of coaxing responses out of Hanzo. Through a dozen odd missions and a hundred training exercises, they’d become friends. If asked directly, Hanzo would have to say that McCree was his best friend. Not that he would ever tell him that. The man had a big enough ego as it was.

 

The dragons, for whatever reason, were convinced that McCree would make a good mate for Hanzo. Why they had suddenly decided to play matchmaker was anyone’s guess, but it was annoying. Lately, whenever he was around McCree, the dragons tried to force his hand. Literally. They would use their limited control of his arm to try and touch McCree’s arm, his hand, and once (one mortifying instance) his ass.

Not that McCree minded, just giving Hanzo his usual goofy, albeit confused, smile. If his incessant flirting was anything to go by, he’d be just as pleased as the dragons would be if Hanzo ever decided to court him. Which he wasn’t planning on. Or thinking about. Ever. Really.

The dragons stirred again. He could feel them laughing at him.

“Hush,” he told him. “I’m not lying to myself.” 

—

The dragons wanted to commune with Hanzo. There were times, few and far between, when Hanzo was able to reach a state of quiet meditation that allowed him to speak with them—face to face, as it were. It was draining for all concerned parties. Their connection could last a few moments at most, so such meetings were for pressing matters that could not be communicated in other ways.

Hanzo released a long sigh, settling down onto his knees in the center of his quarters. Genji had always (miraculously) been better at meditation than he was, even when they were children. But this was still familiar, and easy enough. He evened his breathing, emptied his mind, relaxed as much as he could without compromising his posture. After nearly an hour of meditation, he felt the dragons brush him. Not his body, as he was used to, but his mind. He let out another deep breath in, chasing the sensation. He managed to grab the tail end of it and yank it back toward him. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Look not with the eyes of the body, but the eyes of the soul.

Deep breath in, deep breath—

“Greetings,” the dragons said simultaneously. Their voices blended together so perfectly that Hanzo would be hard-pressed to tell one from the other. They roiled and twisted in front of him, bodies at once translucent and vividly bright.

Hanzo bowed respectfully. “My friends. It is good to hear from you again—directly.”

“And you, young master.”

“What do you wish to discuss?” Hanzo asked. The dragons shared a glance that made Hanzo bristle in annoyance. He could already tell he wasn’t going to like what they said next. 

“It is the cowboy.”

Hanzo couldn't hold back his irritated sigh. “You called me to this, our meeting place—something I cannot do more than once or twice a year, the thing that drains us all of energy—to discuss my _love life_?”

The dragons shuffled in a way that might be embarrassment, if they were not towering beasts of infinite power and wisdom.

“I thought I made it clear; Agent McCree and I are not suited for each other in this way.”

“But you are!” they hissed.

Hanzo had never heard the dragons so riled up, except for maybe immediately after his battle with Genji. 

“The cowboy is the strongest ally you could have. We can see his soul, the good within. He would give his life for you in an instant.”

“He’s—McCree is a _professional_ agent. He would sacrifice himself for the greater good of the team. He would die for any one of us.”

“Not in the way he would for you. He is singularly devoted to keeping you alive. Had it not been for him, you would have perished on at least three separate missions since you joined Overwatch.”

Hanzo pressed a hand against his forehead. “So, what do you wish me to do? Repay him his favors with… _favors_ of my own? Do you want me to date McCree to make up my life-debt to him?”

The dragons clucked their tongues disapprovingly.

“We want you to be happy. The cowboy can provide that happiness—one you have never truly felt. You are better with him than you are alone. Even you should be able to see that.”

Hanzo scoffed. “I don’t need someone else to be happy. I can be happy on my own.”

“You _can_ be happy alone, but you are not. He would be good for you.”

Hanzo scoffed, looking away from their judgmental gazes.

“We cannot make this decision for you,” they said finally, when it was clear Hanzo wasn’t going to respond.

“You certainly have been trying to,” Hanzo muttered. They ignored him.

“But think on this, young master. When was the last time you were not lonely?”

—

The dragons left him with those words their only goodbye. Back in his own body, Hanzo collapsed in a tired heap on the floor. Lowly, he groaned, partly because of the pounding headache in his temples and partly because the dragons’ words had cut deeper than he expected.

He truly couldn't remember the last time he wasn’t lonely. Even when he was young he didn’t have many friends—Genji brought home companions and attended parties and made friends as easily as he breathed air. Hanzo remained alone most of the time. He didn’t have many flirtations. Or companions. Or even friends. He knew he came across as aloof or self-centered. He wasn’t really, his stoic expression just a disguise for a shy and awkward nature. 

Hanzo thought about the long days he spent with only himself for company, the long nights curled in on himself, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his chest.

Overwatch had provided him with friends after years alone, but even his teammates couldn’t always be around to chase away the shadows of loneliness. 

If he was being honest with himself, he ached to be special to someone. To be in the forefront of their mind. To have someone that missed him when he was gone and welcomed him back with a relieved smile. To belong with someone.

Unbidden, McCree jumped into his mind. He thought about the man’s bright smiles, his warm laugh. His stupid, charming accent and confusing colloquialisms. He thought about how it might feel to be wrapped in McCree’s strong arms. What it might be like to kiss him, or card his hands through his hair.

Slowly, Hanzo rubbed his forehead.

“Dammit,” he whispered. Then, after a long pause, to his dragons, “Fine. I will consider…pursuing McCree. Just stop feeling so damn smug about it.”

—

Hanzo spent the next day in his quarters, mostly resting. Meeting with his dragons was a huge drain on his energy. His body felt wrung out, like he’d been hit with a metaphorical (or perhaps spiritual) train.

He dragged himself to the infirmary somewhere around midday. He’d have to tell someone that he’d be absent for training in the next few days. He would have gone to Winston, the acting head of Overwatch at the moment, but he would only ask questions about Hanzo’s condition. Dr. Ziegler already understood.

Hanzo stopped short at the door, certainly not expecting to see his brother leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with Dr. Ziegler. 

She spotted Hanzo hovering at the door first and raised a hand in greeting. Genji fell silent, examining his brother closely. Hanzo shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t been counting on running into Genji.

“Hanzo. What brings you here?” Dr. Ziegler asked. “Feeling alright?”

Hanzo shrugged. “More or less. I met with my dragons yesterday, and so I require rest.”

“Sure,” Dr. Ziegler said. This wasn’t the first time Hanzo had met with the dragons while he was with Overwatch. “I’ll have someone send in meals for you. Do you want some sleeping pills?”

Hanzo nodded gratefully, and she shook a few pills into a smaller bottle for him.

“Remember, no more than two in twenty-four hours. Hope you feel better soon. I’ll tell Winston you’ll be excused from training for a few days.”

Hanzo nodded his thanks and tucked the bottle into his sleeve. Genji jumped deftly off the windowsill he had been sitting on.

“Why did you commune with your dragons? It must have been something pretty important.”

Hanzo fought down the flush building in his cheeks as he turned around.

“Nothing,” he said, more brusquely than he meant to. Genji folded his arms, doing a remarkable job of emoting without facial expressions. It was a look that clearly said ‘you’re full of shit, brother.’ 

It was a familiar look to Hanzo.

He sighed, mirroring his brother’s folded arms.

“A personal matter. It is resolved now,” he said in Japanese. His brother took the language shift in stride.

“What kind of personal matter?”

“A personal kind,” Hanzo snapped. Genji’s arms dropped to his side, his shoulders rising and falling in a silent sigh.

Immediately, Hanzo felt bad. His brother was only asking a simple question, one that Hanzo would have asked if he heard Genji had met with his dragon. Things had been difficult between them for a long time—he was just starting to let Genji back into his life.

He turned back to face his brother.

“I apologize. I should not have snapped at you. The dragons believe I should…pursue a relationship with someone who they think could make me happy.”

“Did they say who this ‘relationship’ should be with?” he asked, body language markedly more relaxed.

Ah, and that shit-eating tone brought back _many_ memories of their youth.

“Yes,” Hanzo said sourly. He didn’t elaborate.

Genji shrugged. “Okay. Just make sure you use protection.”

“Genji!” Hanzo exclaimed. He glanced at Dr. Ziegler, who was tracking the conversation with a curious eyebrow quirked. He was fairly sure she didn’t know Japanese, but it still made Hanzo’s face heat up. Genji held up his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. I will stop teasing you. Just say hello to McCree for me, yes?”

Hanzo groaned.

—

That night, someone knocked on Hanzo’s door, waking him from a light doze.

“Come in,” he said, pushing himself into a sitting position and straightening his robes. The door edged open. McCree stepped in, carrying a tray of food. Hanzo shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let it show on his face. He’d spent some time thinking about what the dragons said and how he felt, and had made up his mind to talk to McCree about it. Later. Not right here. Or right now.

McCree smiled awkwardly, and Hanzo realized he was probably waiting for a response to something.

“I am sorry, what did you say?”

“Mercy told me that you were in need of some room service. Feeling under the weather there, partner?”

“In a word, yes. Thank you. For bringing me supper.” He nodded to the door to indicate McCree could leave. Instead, McCree nudged the door further with a boot and took a step inside. In his other hand was another tray.

“I figured you might like some company. Ain’t nothing worse than being alone when you’re ill.”

Hanzo was about to tell him that he was fine eating alone, thank you, but stopped himself. If he truly wanted to begin a relationship with McCree, the first step would be to spend more time together outside of missions. Right? McCree shuffled his feet and Hanzo realized he’d been sitting in silence for several seconds. He cleared his throat.

“I would very much like it if you joined me for supper.”

“Really?” McCree said. He sounded delighted, like he’d really expected Hanzo to reject his offer. He passed one tray to Hanzo, dropping, crosslegged, to the floor next to Hanzo’s bed. Hanzo slipped from the bed and settled down next to him.

“Great! We haven’t gotten a chance to spend time together since…what, that King’s Row mission? Four weeks ago?”

“It has been a while,” Hanzo agreed. He poked at his food, unsure of how to continue the conversation. Before the dragons’…. _intervention_ , conversation with McCree had been easy, flowing naturally between them. Now Hanzo was uncomfortably aware of McCree—how close he was sitting, the faint smell of cheap cologne and sweat coming off him. His clothes were wrinkled but clean. There was a fresh cut under his eye, probably from a training drill today.

Hanzo was hyper-aware of _everything_.

How had they acted before? Did Hanzo make eye contact with him so often? Did he smile? What did he talk about, and how often? It _had_ been four weeks since their last conversation. Was that a long time to go without speaking? It felt like it had been years.

Goddamnit, this was difficult.

“I missed you,” Hanzo blurted out, because it was true. He stuffed a mouthful of whatever was on his plate into his mouth immediately afterward to stop himself from saying something even more stupid. For a long, terrible moment, McCree didn’t say anything. Finally, he said, “I missed you too, Hanzo.”

He sounded pleased, like he did when Hanzo invited him to stay for supper.

“I gotta say, partner, going on missions ain’t the same without you. It’s a pity we haven’t been assigned together recently. Nobody’s got my back so well as you do.”

“I—thank you,” Hanzo said, surprised. “I also miss going on missions with you.”

McCree tipped his hat in thanks.

“So, what’s got you holed up in your room? Mercy said you’d be out for another day for sure, maybe more.”

“I…” 

Should he tell McCree about what the dragons had said? He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that yet. But McCree was studying him with concern in his eyes. He genuinely wanted to know if Hanzo was okay.

“You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to. It’s your business,” McCree said. Hanzo shook his head.

“That’s not it. I communed with my dragons. It takes a considerable amount of energy and I require extra rest to compensate.”

McCree scooted closer to Hanzo, setting his plate aside. “Whaddaya mean, you ‘communed with your dragons’?”

Hanzo almost laughed at how much he looked like an eager child waiting for story time. He set down his own plate.

“There are…times when my dragons need to tell me something important. We can meet for a short period of time on a spiritual plane, and I am able to communicate verbally with them.”

McCree whistled. “That’s a hell of a party trick. You do that often?”

Hanzo shook his head. “No. It is quite rare. We meet once or twice a year at most—I have gone years without speaking to them directly. The energy it requires of me can be quite extensive.”

“Damn. What was so important?”

Hanzo coughed. “They are concerned with my personal relationships.”

He paused. Oh, damn it all. He might as well, since he was in the sharing mood. “My relationship with you, specifically.”

“Me?” McCree looked flabbergasted. “Why are your dragons talkin’ to you about me? Oh god—”

now he looked horrified— “do they wanna kill me or something? Did I do something wrong?”

Hanzo actually managed a laugh at the look on McCree’s face.

“No, no. You are quite safe from them—for now.”

McCree relaxed. “Oh. Okay then.” He grinned. “So, what was it about? All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly good,” Hanzo said, unable to resist teasing him a little. McCree chuckled, taking up his plate again. They ate in silence for several minutes. McCree put down his fork. “Seriously, though. What did they say?”

Hanzo took a drink of tea, considering how to word it.

“They told me that you are a strong ally for me. They want us to spend more time together in hopes that it will strengthen our bond on the battlefield.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. He was sure the dragons would approve of that at least.

McCree leaned back in his chair. Loftily, he said, “Oh, darlin’, I’m blushing. You always say the sweetest things.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. McCree’s dramatics were more endearing then he’d like to admit. Instead of commenting, he leaned over and stole the cornbread muffin off McCree’s plate.

“Hey, that’s my favorite!” McCree exclaimed, sitting up and grabbing for the cornbread. 

“I know,” Hanzo said smugly. He took a bite, smiling at McCree’s anguished groan. McCree dived for it and he retreated, taking another taunting bite.

“Dammit, Hanzo! I made that myself! None of you heathens make it right!” McCree yelled. They grappled for the cornbread, Hanzo sneaking bites whenever could manage it. He laughed through a mouthful of crumbs. McCree got the upper hand quickly and pinned Hanzo against the side of the bed.

“Aha!” he shouted, victorious. Hanzo managed to stuff the last bite his mouth.

“Oh no you don’t,” McCree growled. He grabbed Hanzo’s chin with the intent to force his mouth open.

In a fit of childishness, Hanzo stuck out his tongue.

“Ugh. Never mind, you can keep it,” McCree grumbled. Hanzo swallowed the rest of the cornbread triumphantly. McCree’s hand rested against Hanzo’s cheek from where he’d attempted to get Hanzo’s mouth open. Hanzo swallowed again, unrelated to the cornbread, and locked eyes with McCree. Their faces were inches apart. McCree’s legs boxed him in on either side, almost uncomfortably close.

His heart pounded in his chest, not with adrenaline from the quick grappling match, but with something else. Anticipation. 

It would be so easy to close the distance between them. It would be so easy to close his eyes and lean forward. No need for clumsy words or embarrassing uncertainty.

Hanzo pulled away.

“Thank you for dining with me, McCree. I should rest now.”

“Yeah, no problem,” McCree stammered. “I’d love to eat you—eat _with_ you, I mean! Eat _with_ you. Uh, anytime.” 

He jumped up from where he was essentially straddling Hanzo. Hurriedly, he stuffed his hat on his head and headed for the door.

“I enjoyed having your company,” Hanzo said, just as McCree opened the door.

“What? Oh, yes, it was mighty nice to spend time with you, too,” McCree said. He was blushing, fidgeting. From their moment of closeness (and the slip of his tongue), Hanzo assumed, and he’d be lying to himself if he said it hadn’t affected him just as much. Hesitantly, he said, “If you find yourself without a companion tomorrow evening, perhaps you could visit again?” 

Relief broke over McCree’s face. He tipped his hat.

“Sure thing, partner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He threw one last uncertain smile at Hanzo and closed the door.

With a groan, Hanzo levered himself up and flopped tiredly on the bed. “That went well,” he muttered. The dragons stirred.

“Oh, do not even start,” he said. “No, I was not being a coward. The timing was wrong! I am not ready yet.”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I am going to do this properly, with dignity and—and a first date that does not involve wrestling with each other!”

He flushed, his imagination taking his mind to other kinds of wrestling that could happen on dates.  
“And none of that either,” he said, when his dragons roiled in silent delight. “McCree is a gentleman. Of a sort. In any case, _nothing_ is going to happen if you insist on pestering me about it.”

Annoyance and disappointment flickered through him from his dragons, but they settled down again, fading into lifeless tattoos once again. It was their silent promise to leave him alone for a while. Hanzo sighed in relief—they had interfered far too much already. He got ready for bed quickly, feeling his eyes grow heavier with the minute. He wasn’t lying to McCree—he really did need to sleep. Preferably for a long time. Dreamlessly, if he could manage it. 

He got into bed and lay back with a sigh. Before he drifted off to sleep, he let himself think of what might have happened, had he kissed McCree. What would he taste like? Those awful cigars he always smoked, probably. But even that didn’t sound too bad, at least in Hanzo’s imagination. Would McCree have pulled away after a few chaste kisses, face flushed with surprise and pleasure? Or would he have kissed demandingly, thoroughly, wanting more? Would Hanzo be prepared to give him more? Probably, Hanzo thought guilty, thinking of the man’s clever hands and soft lips. Would Hanzo have a bedmate right now, had he only closed that distance between them? He sighed softly, hand drifting downwards. He couldn’t know how the night would have gone but…there was no harm in imagining, was there?  
—

Hanzo woke up slowly, lazily. His whole body felt heavy and warm. Faint strands of light were creeping in through the shades of his window. It was early, then. Hanzo yawned, turned over, and nestled down into his pillows again. Sleep was still clinging to him; it would be simple to fall back under for a few more hours. He didn’t usually get mornings as peaceful as this. He was halfway to sleep again within a few seconds.

There was a knock at his door. Loud. Incessant. 

Hanzo groaned. “Who is it?” he asked grumpily, through the frog in his throat.

“It’s Jesse—McCree,” the voice said. “I thought you might like some breakfast.”

Hanzo groaned softly. He raked his fingers through his hair and collected it into a low ponytail.

“Come in,” he said. McCree entered, holding two trays once again. He smiled awkwardly.

“I brought coffee,” he offered. Hanzo raised an eyebrow. 

“Tea?”

“Brought that, too.”

McCree settled himself where he was the night before and handed Hanzo a thermos of tea. He pulled out another thermos, presumably of coffee, and took a long drink.

He recapped the thermos and set it aside.

“Look, Hanzo,” he said. He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about night. Things got a little….weird. You’re a good friend and I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Hanzo said, after a short pause. “I did not mind.”

“You didn’t?” McCree said, sounding confused. “I thought because of the whole….”

He waved his hand, as if that would explain better than his words. Hanzo understood, however, and felt his own blush creep up on him from the memory of McCree’s body, pressed close to his own.

“It is forgotten,” he told McCree hurriedly.

“Oh. Good.”

An urge washed over Hanzo—to tell McCree what the dragons had truly said. He resisted it; such a thing wasn’t exactly suitable for light breakfast discussion, especially after they had just cleared the air between them.

Instead, he cleared his throat.

“McCree,” he said. 

“Yeah?” McCree answered, sounding wary. 

“I was wondering….if you would like to join me. For supper.”

“Oh! Of course, I can bring you your supper again tonight. If you’re sure you don’t mind the company.”

Hanzo shook his head. He knew McCree was a sharp agent in the field, one of their brightest agents, but he certainly wasn’t as perceptive when it came to personal matters.

“That is not what I meant. I was hoping you would join me for supper, not in this room. Perhaps on Friday, when I have recovered my strength fully? We could go off-base. My brother tells me there is a nice restaurant not an hour from here.”

McCree cocked his head to the side. “What’re you saying?” he asked. “I mean—I would love to, don’t get me wrong, but it sounds an awful lot like a date, you know? I would hate for people to get the wrong impression about us.”

Hanzo suppressed the urge to cover his face with his hands. He was barely holding on to his dignity as it was, and the stubborn flush that covered his face wasn’t helping matters.

“Why would we be giving them the wrong impression?” he said. McCree opened his mouth and shut it again.

“I….I’m a little lost here,” he admitted. Hanzo rolled his eyes.

“I am asking you on a date.”

“You’re—what? I don’t—“

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Hanzo muttered. “I am asking you on a date,” he repeated. “Because I would like to date you. Because I have romantic feelings for you. I thought you returned those feelings, but if I was incorrect in my assumptions….”

“No!” McCree nearly shouted. His ran his metal hand through his hair distractedly. “No, you’re…you’re not wrong about me liking you. I just—I never thought that you felt the same way.”

He smiled shyly at Hanzo. Hanzo returned the smile without thinking, and McCree’s own smile grew wider. Hanzo figured the cycle would repeat itself unless he broke it, so he said, “So. Is that a yes?”

“Uh, hell yeah,” McCree said. He coughed, embarrassed. “I mean. Yes, I would love to.”

“Good,” Hanzo said, surprised at how relieved he was. He picked up the thermos of tea McCree had brought and poured himself a cup. He took a sip and grimaced. 

“Ugh. I need to show you how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“Maybe that can be our second date,” McCree said slyly. Hanzo hid a smile.

“Yes, perhaps it can.”

—

Their first date came sooner than the planned supper. Two days after Hanzo asked McCree out, he’d recovered enough to resume training sessions. McCree welcomed him back to the training grounds with a quick smile and a wink. Hanzo returned the smile easily. He was a lot more comfortable around McCree than he thought he’d be, especially after recent developments. Maybe his dragons were right. (Not that he’d ever admit it to them. They’d think it was an invitation to meddle in _every_ aspect of Hanzo’s personal life).

After group training was complete, Hanzo hung around to work by himself. He wasn’t rusty, per se, but he could tell it had been several days since he’d used his bow.

McCree stayed behind too. They worked in silence for a while, Storm Bow matching Peacemaker shot for shot until they were both satisfied.

“Damn, but ain’t you a pretty shot,” McCree huffed, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You are as well,” Hanzo returned. He lowered his bow, stretching out his back muscles. After days of inactivity, he enjoyed the dull ache of good exercise.

“Hey,” McCree said suddenly. “What do you say to going on a walk?”

“A walk?” Hanzo echoed.

“Yeah! It’s a beautiful day.”

Hanzo agreed with McCree—it was a warm summer day, slightly overcast, but with no hint of rain.

“Where should we go?” Hanzo asked.

McCree shrugged. “Don’t know, rightly. Just around, I guess. Zenyatta mentioned something about a hiking path. It’s whatever, though. If you don’t want to, or…”

“No, that sounds good,” Hanzo said. McCree’s face lit up and Hanzo ignored the flutter in his chest.

“Great,” McCree said. They started to exit the training grounds. Halfway there, Hanzo reached for McCree’s hand. McCree looked down at their intertwined fingers in surprise, which quickly melted into a dopey smile. Hanzo smiled, too, content not to speak. McCree picked up on the mood and stayed silent as well. His smile spoke loud enough for him anyway.

—

They did indeed find the hiking path Zenyatta mentioned. The simple stone-and-dirt footpath wound its way around the small mountain they used to disguise the base. They held hands while they walked, again content to stay in silence. After ten or so minutes, McCree pulled Hanzo to a stop.

“Shh. Watch,” he said quietly, breath tickling Hanzo’s ear. They stood still for a long moment. A bird swooped down from overhead and landed about fifteen feet in front of them. It pecked at the ground, searching for something, and came up with a fat worm. McCree and Hanzo’s eyes followed the bird’s path through the air to a nest, chirping triumphantly.

They kept their eyes peeled for wildlife after that. Hanzo caught sight of a squirrel and managed to coax it close enough to sniff at his hand. It darted away quickly, but Hanzo just laughed.

“He thought I had something for him to eat,” he said. “Maybe we’ll have to bring food with us next time. I would hate to disappoint him again.”

Half an hour later, they reached the end of the path. It overlooked the valley below the mountain, the small clearing lined with trees. Hanzo and McCree sat down, their hands finally falling to their sides.

“This is mighty nice, Hanzo,” McCree said. Hanzo hummed his agreement. He gathered his courage for a moment. He took a deep breath and rested his head against McCree’s shoulder.

“This is nice, too,” he murmured.

“It sure is.” 

McCree’s voice was warm and soft. His arm rested gently around Hanzo’s waist, light enough to pull away if he wished to.

He didn’t wish to. 

It was almost dark before either of them spoke again. At the same time, McCree said, “I guess we should be heading back,” and Hanzo said, “My dragons thought you would be a good match for me.”

There was a pause.

“Huh?” McCree said.

Hanzo sat up, a bit embarrassed. “My dragons. They said that you would make a good match for me. Romantically. They persuaded me to pursue you.”

“Hold on,” McCree said. “So this—all this—was because your _dragons_ talked you into it?”

“They didn’t _talk me into it_ —”

“No, they did. You would have never thought of me like that if they hadn’t told you. You would have never asked me out unless they told you to.”

“That’s not true!” 

McCree pulled away from Hanzo, something like hurt flashing across his face. “No, it is true. You asked me out because you thought it would make me a stronger ally! It was just a battle tactic! Admit it!”

“No!” Hanzo snapped. “That’s not it at all. The dragons told me to pursue you, but it was something that I wanted to do! I was simply too cowardly to do it on my own. I needed an outside force to push me into it!”

“Oh, so you were forced into it! I see how it is,” McCree said bitterly.

“You confounded—no, McCree, I did not say that I was _forced_ into courting you. I said I was too scared to face up to my own feelings for you. Feelings that I’ve had for a long time but never had the courage to act on! Or to even acknowledge!”

McCree snorted. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Shimada.” He laughed, no humor in it. “And here I thought….” 

He stood to walk away. Hanzo jumped up, trailing after him.

“Listen to me, McCree,” he said. “I did not—this was no game, no strategy. It is real. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Why should I?” he demanded, his face red with anger and hurt.

Hanzo growled in frustration and surged toward him, hands on against either side of his face. He pressed their lips together, fierce, hard, unrelenting. McCree jerked back in surprise at first, but returned the kiss with just as much fire.

Hanzo let go of McCree’s face and wrapped one arm around his waist, drawing them closer together. Panting and flushed, he pulled back enough to say, “Believe me when I say that this—you—are all I ever wanted. Whether or not I was wise enough to see it on my own.”

McCree—Jesse—nodded dumbly.

As suddenly as it came, the anger between them cooled. Hanzo leaned forward hesitantly, until their lips barely brushed. He made up for all the roughness of their first kiss with the gentleness in this one, the fire turning into a comfortable warmth burning in his chest. His breath caught in his throat as their lips parted again. 

“Well, I’ll be,” Jesse said quietly. “I didn’t expect—”

“Me either,” Hanzo admitted.

His dragons were right. This, here with Jesse, was right. It was what he needed. He wondered if he would have ever gotten here without their interference. Maybe. Maybe not. 

Jesse’s lips captured his own again and that line of thinking went out the window. _All_ lines of thinking went out the window in favor of sensations. The scruff of McCree’s beard against his skin. His chapped lips. His work-roughened hands gently cradling Hanzo’s face. The solidness of his broad shoulders under Hanzo’s hands. The warm weight of his body. The hot press of his tongue against the seam of Hanzo’s lips. It was perfect, all of it.

_He_ was perfect. Hanzo knew, knew deep in his soul where his dragons rested peacefully, content and quiet once more, that _this_ was what he had been missing. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sadhipstercat on tumblr, come chat!


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